


Cold Feet

by practicingsands



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Civilian AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/practicingsands/pseuds/practicingsands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a modern au by winterysomnium, wherein Jason is an apprentice piercer and Tim offers to let him practice on his tongue. Oh, and Jason is out of ice so Tim get's a popsicle instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

"Is that…Is that a Popsicle?"

"Yeah." Jason Todd ruffled through a drawer for a bit before pulling out a set of keys. “I forgot to make ice chips but this should work while I run out and grab some." 

Tim Drake sat on the couch not entirely sure if his new neighbor was serious or not. That seemed to be a thing with Jason, and unfortunately it was one of the many little things that caught Tim’s attention when he moved in last May. It wasn’t long before the little things began to pile up and soon Tim found himself at the base of a massive, mountain sized crush. Perhaps more importantly, those little things were what landed him in the living room of said crush, waiting to get stabbed in the tongue while holding an ice-pop that was supposed to take the place of proper, sterile ice.

Jason shot Tim a smug look and a soft trill buzzed up his back and into his palms and he knew he was screwed. Just 10 minutes earlier he was beginning to think that getting a tongue piercing from an apprentice piercer just because he smelled nice and had pretty eyes was quite possibly one of the worst ideas he'd ever had. Now that he was actually there, with his sexyboy neighbor insisting that a Popsicle ‘should work’ as an anesthetic, he was pretty damn sure he was right. However, that feeling that buzzed through his body whenever Jason was around had a way of stuffing all of Tim’s logical thoughts into a metaphorical box and putting him on ‘do-whatever-keeps-this-guy-around-longer’ autopilot.

So, Tim obediently peeled off the wrapper to reveal an orangey colored block of ice that could not possibly be up to piercing code. He considered it for a bit before looking back up at Jason, now reaching for his wallet on the table next to Tim. If he was going to do this, he was going to have to commit, and it looked like committing involved shoving a cheerily orange phallic symbol in his mouth and hoping it would go numb. Oh, and you know, not cause horrid piercing complications. He sighed and tasted it.

"Peachy." Not what he was expecting.

"Just like you, doll." Not the response he was expecting, either. 

Jason pulled back from the table, wallet in hand, and booped Tim on the nose before heading for the door.

"So I should just…”

"...stick it in your mouth and wait for me come back." There was a definite pause between the words, 'come' and 'back,' which Jason emphasized with a sly wink before slipping out the door. At least if Tim died from a Popsicle-related infection, it would be in a really, really hot guy’s apartment.

Tim dubiously sucked on the Popsicle and waited, per instruction. Settling into the couch, he started to sweat. The place didn't have air conditioning; just the half-hearted, half-dying whirr of a ceiling fan and an ingeniously engineered series of opened doors and windows that set up an impressively efficient cross-breeze. And in the heat of the July afternoon, it wasn’t nearly enough to keep the place comfortable. It was almost better tim had something to keep him cool while he waited, even if it made the oncoming procedure even more unnerving than it had been in the first place. Tim shifted a bit, trying to take his mind off of the thought of long needles and sharp pains, but he could’t get comfortable. It wasn’t that the couch or the place that bothered him, those were both clean, cushy and far more welcoming than his own dirty, sparse place. Rather, it was something about just being there that threw him off.

Truth be told, it was a little weird being in Jason’s apartment in general. When he had moved in months earlier, Tim was leery. More than leery, he was pissed. 

It was Tim’s first year of grad school, and he had specially selected that apartment complex because of the residents. Mostly old people, some families, no one to really bother him or make waves while he was studying. College was fun, in its own way, but Tim was done with partying and drinking and frat boys screaming outside his window all night. He wanted peace and quiet. So when a 20 something, six-foot-tall, 200-pound, muscular man moved in, complete with a body covered in tattoos and a motorcycle older than Tim out front, he was pretty sure his peace and quiet had come to an end. 

In many ways, it did. Jason was in and out at all hours of the night, along with people and animals of various shapes and sizes and varieties, some of which Tim hadn’t even known existed. Even beyond the unusual presentation of his guests, it still wasn’t your average traffic. People came and went frequently coupled with food pantry boxes or clothing donations, animals entered scruffy and without collars, then left days later clean and with new owners. Quickly, Jason added to the building a friendly kind of racket that may well have bothered most of the typical, quasi-suburban occupants. For Tim, though, the whole ordeal was just enough to draw him in to the point he realized: he had to meet Jason.

About a month of investigation (some would call stalking) and careful planning later, he was found himself on Jason’s couch holding a peach Popsicle that was… dripping. Dripping everywhere.

Panicked, he looked around for something to help, but found nothing. Even with a good cross breeze the apartment was hot as hell, and there wasn’t a towel or napkin in sight. In fact…there really wasn’t much of anything in sight. 

When Tim had first arrived to Jason’s apartment that day, ready to loose his piercing virginity, he was mesmerized by the sheer size and presence of Jason. Even more, he was amazed that he had managed to talk him into having him over not thirty minutes after striking up a conversation with him for the first time. But now that Tim was alone, he was struck by the emptiness of the place. 

No, not emptiness. Organization.

Pots were nestled perfectly in racks, decorations dusted and lined up in rows. Papers filed and organized. Jars labeled. Books alphabetized. Everything, literally everything was in a clearly designated, clearly maintained place. For Tim, the king of moldy pizza boxes and unwashed clothes it seemed impossible. Bizarre even. But somehow, for the endless mystery that was Jason Todd, it just seemed… right. Like a freezer filled with nothing but ice-pops and Honey-Baked ham.

The Popsicle’s slow drip down Tim’s chin transformed into a steady flow. Determined to find something he could use to wipe his mouth, he stood up and searched harder. Table? Nothing. Desk? Nothing. 

Into the kitchen he went, hoping that upon closer inspection a towel or something would appear, but to no avail. He threw what was left of the ice-pop in the trash bin and pulled open drawers at random. Inside he found more neat stacks, piles and rows. Everything seemed to have a place here, and with enough investigation savvy, Tim was sure he could napkins, dish rags, really anything to wipe off his face.

The drawers were a no-go, so he next checked the cabinets and found nothing. Then the pantry, which still left him empty handed. Desperate, he got on his knees to check the cup-board beneath, the sink, sure there was at least a sponge or something down there. Soap bottle after soap bottle were stashed beneath, coupled with the occasional bucket and steel-wool pad. Nothing he found, however, could reasonably be used for wiping a human face. Dejected, he sank his face into a pack of bar soap and sighed.

"Wooowww. On your knees already, and I’m not even home yet. For shame."

Tim jumped, his head meeting the upper of the cabinet with a sharp crack.

“What are you…” Jason curiously walked toward Tim who had gingerly pulled his head out from beneath the sink. Seeing his face, Jason smiled.

“Next to the oven." He popped open a wood paneled bin on the counter nestled between the oven/microwave unit and a few plants. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Tim flopped back against the adjacent cabinet and rubbed his sore head. “Little embarrassed though.”

“Don’t be. I organize for myself, not for everyone else. Its not supposed to make sense for you.” He extended his hand to Tim, who grasped it lightly and met with a strong yank upward until he was on his feet again. Jason’s massive frame towered over Tim’s tiny body, reminding him just how large of a guy he was, and just how much smaller Tim was in comparison. The size difference wasn’t off-putting, though. In fact, it somehow made Tim feel safer around Jason. Like he had a guard dog with big blue eyes waiting for him down the hall. 

Jason smiled, and his hand went for Tim’s chin. 

“And next time you don't literally have to keep the Popsicle in when it's dripping all over you.”

Tim pulled away, still slightly embarrassed.

"I'm kind of hoping I won't need a next time. I figured tongue piercings are a one time thing."

"Don't worry, they are.” Jason gave him a look that made Tim wonder if he said something wrong. It was soft and reproachful. Almost…Sad? “I’m just... You know. Saying.”

There was a long, quiet pause. 

“Here.” Jason leaned over to the sink and wet a paper towel before handing it back to Tim. “You can wipe that off. And when you’re done rinse all the Popsicle out.

“Thanks…” Tim wiped his chin. “But, umm… cups.” 

A Metallica cup was produced from a small drawer next to the stove. “Okay…”

“Now brush your teeth and rinse two or three times with this…”

He handed Tim a brand-new tooth brush and alcohol-free mouthwash. Tim did as he was told, making damn sure to brush and rinse every inch of his mouth, positive that somehow that Popsicle was going to be the death of him.

“Done?”

Tim rinsed and spit a fourth time, quickly. Just in case.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, than sit here.” He motioned to one of two stools set up near the counter, where Jason had meticulously laid out all of his piercing tools. Tim took a seat and Jason plopped down next to him, where he smacked on two, fresh blue gloves.

“So this is what’s going to happen. You are going to look right at me. Don’t blink. Then relax and stick out your tongue. Then I am going to take this nice sterile needle and put it through gently and let you know when I am finished. It won’t hurt too much. Don’t worry. Tongue piercings are one of the least painful piercings you can get. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tim shifted uneasily in his seat. Jason steadied him with his legs against Tim’s, pressing his thighs against the stool. He then reached up and grabbed Tim’s face, focusing him squarely on his eyes.

"Comfy?"

"Mmhmmm..." 

“Then look at me.”

Jason stared him dead down for a few seconds while fiddling with something in his lap.

“I’m going to look away for a second just to make sure everything’s the way we need it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jason broke eye contact, and Tim unconsciously followed the movement of his hands until he noticed the needle. His hands began to shake and his through dried up. It was so much bigger than he had expected, so much more daunting. It would be okay, though. Jason knew what he was doing. Mostly. But… what if the Popsicle somehow infected his piercing? Or Tim flinched and the needle went in wrong? It wasn't the first time his squeemishness screwed up a procedure. When he had to get his blood drawn to test for mono two years prior, it had taken the nurse four tries to get the needle stable enough against Tim’s terrified shaking to pierce a vein. Why the hell did he think this was a good idea again?

"Hey." Jason caught his glance and drew him back in. His eyes softened into the most peaceful shade of grayish blue, and his free hand steadied one of Tim’s arms. "We don't have to do this." 

"I mean… I want to. To do this. And you have to practice. But..."

"You're freaked out. It’s cool." Jason ran his hand lightly up Tim's arm and to his jaw, causing Tim’s stomach to drop and his heart to somehow beat even faster. At last his fingers dipped into Tim's messy hair, where they lingered for a bit before coming down to his ear and softly rubbing against his lobe. Jason leaned in and whispered: “It's okay, we can take it slow."

His other hand then reached down into his lap where it felt around for something and then came back with an ice chip that he pressed against Tim's ear. A shiver ran down his spine, in part from the cold, but also from the stare Jason drilled into him while he waited. Slowly, Tim lost feeling in his ear and Jason pulled away and back in again with a dramatic flourish.

“How to you feel about ear piercings”?

“I…I like them." Which quickly became "I want one.”

"Good." Jason laughed. "Because I'm already done."

"What?"

To his disbelief, Tim grabbed his ear and felt a small hole in his lobe between his finger tips. 

"Pick your poison."

He whipped out a display of earrings in various shapes and colors to choose from. Tim picked out a small, silver stud and pushed it through the hole gingerly, still shocked he couldn't feel a thing.

"Like it?"

"Yeah."

Jason smiled. “Then maybe next time we could go all the way."


End file.
